


The Aftermath

by marianhawke



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23297080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marianhawke/pseuds/marianhawke
Summary: Some vignettes set after quests/story points. First time posting! Alistair/F!Cousland (I know, I know).
Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Kudos: 4





	1. Redcliffe

They trudged back into camp, tired and still covered in bits of undead gore. The new normal. What was not normal was the mood. Feeling heavy, Elena looked at her companions and saw what she expected to see- they all looked weary and a bit older than they had when they left that morning. Alistair looked especially dour and avoided her gaze.  


They all went into their respective tents without a word. Elena pushed open the tent flap and started taking off her armor as she walked in, yanking at the various straps with a grimace. She heard a noise outside and turned around open-mouthed, ready to tell whoever it was to leave her alone, when she saw Alistair at the edge of her tent and her stomach turned.

“Elena…” he started, looking unsure of what exactly he wanted to say. “I feel like we should talk about what happened back there.” 

“Alistair, I did what I had to do. That’s all there is to it.”

“I know. I just… I just wanted to say that… maybe there was a better way. I keep thinking about what Arl Eamon will say when he wakes.”

“If he wakes,” Elena said, tears welling up despite her best efforts. She was being hurtful and she knew it. “If he ever wakes, Alistair. Our best hope at this point is a legendary urn that may or may not exist, and you’re criticizing me about a decision I made to keep his son alive.”

Alistair put his hands up, brow creased. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something and then thought better of it. “He wouldn’t have wanted blood magic.” 

“Isolde was willing, so please don’t lecture me on the dangers of blood magic. I’m sure I’ll get quite enough of that from Wynne, thanks.” Elena fiddled with the straps of her armor some more, not wanting to look Alistair in the eye. 

“We could have gotten the Circle involved. With enough mages and lyrium, maybe we could have saved both of them.”

“And what of the journey to the Circle and back? Leaving a demon to run the castle in our absence? Who knows what would have happened!” Elena was nearly shouting, tears now fully prickling her eyes. She turned away and continued trying to fiddle with her armor. She noticed her hands were shaking. 

“I just thought-“

“Well, maybe just leave the thinking to me,” Elena snapped. She regretted it as soon as it was said. Still turned away, she heard Alistair pause then leave the tent. Fantastic, she thought. We were just starting to be friends. She could still feel the tears springing to her eyes, but she wouldn’t let herself cry. Not now, she thought. Not after everything I’ve been through to get here. I won’t start regretting my decisions now. She knew she was right, after all- Isolde had been willing and it was the only way to save Connor that didn’t require a multi-day journey. Maker only knew what would have happened in that castle while they were travelling. 

Still, Elena couldn’t seem to sleep that night. She felt horrible about what she said to Alistair. Well, we have to be around each other during our journey to the Brecilian Forest, she thought. I should apologize tomorrow.

The next day, none of the party members seemed particularly keen on talking. Leliana, who normally liked to chat and tell stories or sing, was quieter than Elena had ever heard before. Wynne seemed to be working up to a lecture on blood magic so Elena did her best to avoid that talk by keeping near Morrigan and Sten, who she figured were the least likely to strike up an unwanted conversation. She noticed that Alistair took care to stay on the other end of the party from her. Her stomach turned again, this time from guilt. He looked so defeated, and she knew it was her fault. She shouldn’t have snapped at him last night. Maybe she should try to apologize now before she ruined the small friendship that had sprung up between them. 

It was then that she walked into the ambush.


	2. Recruitment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they recruit a stray elf after an ambush and Elena is as tactless as usual.

Zevran wasn’t what she expected. He was charming, very charming- of course, he nearly would have killed her if not for a well-placed arrow shot by Leliana. And now, she was watching Wynne patch up his wounds by the fire. They needed all the allies they could find, even ones who had been paid to get rid of them. 

Alistair wasn’t a fan. Of course, which of her decisions did he approve of, these days? It’s easy to criticize when you’re not the one in charge, she thought bitterly. 

“Elena, pass me that poultice, will you?” Wynne asked as she bound up Zevran’s leg. Elena did so wordlessly, still worrying over what she should say to Alistair to apologize. 

Apologizing did not come naturally to her. Her mother had called her headstrong; of course, her brother had used less friendly terms for it, but it all added up to the same thing. She was stubborn and she knew it. 

Wynne, as if sensing her thoughts, gave her a piercing look. That mage had a habit of reading her thoughts. Maybe that, not healing, was her real specialty. 

“Elena, you should simply talk to him,” Wynne said. “I’m sure he’ll welcome it.” 

“Oh, is there romantic trouble?” Zevran asked with an arch look. “Now, who are we talking about? The handsome Grey Warden who keeps looking at you?”

Elena felt her face flush. “Mind your own business,” she muttered, trying to busy herself with organizing the poultices so she didn’t have to look at the two of them. She looked up at Alistair, who was sitting next to Leliana and laughing at some tale the bard was telling. She felt queasy. I have no right to get jealous after I yelled at him last night, she thought. 

“You know, I consider myself an expert in matters of the heart,” Zevran said. “This could be one more skill I bring to the table, so to speak.” 

Wynne shook her head. “Now is maybe not the time,” she told the elf. “Anyway, you’re ready to go. Just stay light on that leg and you’ll be fine.” 

“You know, I could get used to this,” Zevran said. Wynne packed up her poultices and went back to her tent. After she left, Zevran sidled over and sat down next to Elena. 

“I may have tried to kill you this morning, but perhaps I can help with your quandary,” he said. Elena shook her head. “No? Very well.”

They sat together in silence, staring at the fire. For a trained assassin, Zevran was surprisingly easy to be around. I guess that’s the idea, Elena thought. She still wasn’t convinced Zevran wouldn’t try to slit her throat in her sleep, but what can you do. She looked up and noticed that Leliana had gone into her tent and Alistair was alone. Elena got up, braced herself, and walked over to him. He looked up at her with his brow furrowed, clearly unsure what to expect. Elena sighed and looked down at her hands. 

“I just wanted to say… that I’m sorry for the other night. I shouldn’t have snapped at you,” she said, still looking at her hands. What did people do with their hands? Suddenly she felt like she was all hands and all feet, she who was normally so agile. Her stomach fluttered when she looked down at him and saw he was smiling. 

“No need to apologize,” he said. “It was a long day. You made a difficult choice and I shouldn’t have questioned you.”

“I want you to question me,” Elena said, her face heating up. “I want you to be able to tell me if I’m wrong. I… I respect your opinion, Alistair.” 

His eyebrows shot up when she said this, and she realized he probably wasn’t used to hearing that. Especially not with Morrigan in the party. 

“Oh,” he said. “Well… that’s good to know. I respect your opinion, too.” 

“I really care for you,” Elena blurted out, her face feeling hotter than the sun. Alistair went open-mouthed again, as if he wasn’t sure what to say. She thought that was rather endearing. 

“I feel the same way,” he said. She sat down next to him, feeling clumsy. They sat in silence, ignoring Zevran, who was making some rather crude hand gestures on the other side of the camp. Elena was unsure what to say. She had flirted with boys, of course, in her life before, but this felt different. This felt more real. And painfully, painfully awkward. Elena worried at her fingernails, chipping away at what was left of them, until she had an idea. 

“Well I’m, uh, going to turn in for the night,” she said, trying to drop the hint you’re welcome to join me. Did she look okay? She was painfully aware that her hair was limp and ragged from the fight earlier and her armor was still covered in blood. Not a particularly sexy look. 

“Oh, goodnight!” Alistair said, smiling at her. Dammit. Her plan foiled, she went into her tent alone, wanting the Maker to strike her where she stood for her utter lack of charm.


	3. Brecilian Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alistair blushes a lot.

“Well, that went well,” Alistair said. “You know, by our usual standards.” 

“Don’t listen to him,” Wynne said. “You saved a lot of lives today.” The mage stretched her neck this and that way, rolling her shoulders as if relieved of some secret tension. 

Elena smiled (oh Maker was she actually smiling? She couldn’t remember the last time she had smiled) and turned around to face her companions. Alistair was walking right behind her, with Zevran and Wynne bringing up the rear. 

“No, we saved a lot of lives today,” she said. “Without your help it probably would have been a massacre.”

“You are too modest,” Zevran said. “You can be very persuasive at times. Well, you talked me into joining you.” Elena smiled and turned back around to take the lead. 

They trudged through the forest silently for a time, trying to keep track of the trail that led back to their camp. Elena was very aware that Alistair was right behind her. They hadn’t spoken much since that night in camp, save some pleasantries and battle directions, when usually they chatted about anything and everything. Elena had consoled him when his grief was still fresh, and he knew more about her family than anyone except Fergus. To go from that easy companionship to nothing was… odd. Not to mention unwelcome. 

“So… uh… the weather’s been quite nice,” Elena said, dropping back to walk next to Alistair. Was he blushing?

“Yes, very nice! Great weather for… activities.”

“Activities?” Zevran asked from behind them, eyebrow raised. Elena didn’t have to turn around to hear the smirk in his voice. 

“You know, like killing darkspawn, brokering peace between elves and werewolves, fun pastimes like that,” Alistair said. He stopped suddenly. Wynne and Zevran nearly ran into him. 

“Did you hear that?” he asked. Suddenly Elena was on the ground with a great weight pressed on her. An arrow whistled past and buried itself harmlessly in the tree behind her, narrowly missing the spot where her head had been. She looked to her side and saw Alistair had pushed her down, their faces close enough to touch, his arm on her side pinning her to the ground. His face turned briefly red as he scrambled to get up and draw his sword. Elena did the same, jumping up with alacrity and drawing her daggers. 

“Darkspawn incoming!” Zevran yelled, already engaged with a genlock who had emerged from the forest, bearing a leery, teeth-filled grin and a set of nasty-looking daggers. More came out from the forest behind them. Elena and Alistair quickly set to work, him attacking darkspawn from the front and distracting them while she came from behind to finish them off. 

They finished the small band of darkspawn off quickly. Zevran and Wynne scouted the forest around them for more while the other two searched the darkspawn corpses for anything that looked useful. 

“Nothing over here,” Alistair called. “Elena, have you found anything?”

“A health poultice and a necklace,” she said, trying not to think about how the darkspawn must have acquired the necklace. “I think Morrigan might like it.”

“Maybe once it’s been cleaned,” Alistair said, wiping his hands. He put his gloves back on. “Maker, but these things are disgusting.” 

“I think I’ll give it to her covered in darkspawn goo,” Elena said. “I’m sure she’d love that.” She paused her search for a second and looked at Alistair. “Alistair, you saved my life earlier. I can’t thank you enough.” 

“Really, it was nothing,” he said, cheeks coloring again. “Honestly, I didn’t even think about it. I just saw the arrow and- you know.”

“You swooped down,” Elena said, teasing him with a smile. Alistair laughed. 

“Yes, I swooped,” he said. “I guess swooping isn’t always bad.” They stood there, looking at each other for a moment. Her heart was beating fast. Elena knew she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure what. Until she heard Zevran and Wynne returning. 

“All clear,” Zevran said. “Camp should not be far.” 

“Good,” Elena said, getting businesslike again. “Let’s get going before the darkspawn return.”

On their return to camp, Elena pulled Alistair aside. She took a deep breath and steadied herself. 

“Look, I know the whole situation with Isolde was difficult,” she said. “It’s just hard for me to talk about… things like that. But I want you to know that if you need to talk about it or something else, I’m here for you,” she said.

“Thank you, Elena,” he said, smiling his crooked smile. “I know Isolde wasn’t exactly the best stepmother, but it wasn’t easy to watch her sacrifice herself like that. I feel… guilty, knowing that we might have to explain it to Arl Eamon if he wakes up.”

“When he wakes,” Elena corrected him, smiling back. “Let’s head to Orzammar and then we can try to find this Brother Genitivi and see about the Urn.” 

“Here’s hoping the dwarves don’t have some kind of problem that only we can solve,” he said. “Maybe this time we’ll be in and out quickly. ‘Can we have some troops?’ ‘Oh yes Grey Warden, here you go, on your way!’” he said. Elena laughed. 

“Wouldn’t that be a nice surprise,” she said. On a whim, she reached out and took Alistair’s hand, briefly squeezing it before letting go. “Whatever their problems might be, it’s nothing we can’t handle.”


	4. Broodmother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elena gets drunk.

Oghren might be on to something here, Elena thought, taking another swig of his ale. Nobody seemed eager to talk, not even Alistair, who would usually try to lighten the mood with a joke. 

They were camped somewhere in the Deep Roads under many feet of rock, with the only light around provided by their fire. It had been Maker-knows-how-many days since any of them had seen the surface and all of them except Oghren were becoming more and more testy as time wore on. 

Of course, that was before they encountered that… thing. Now the mood varied from pensive to straight-up irritable. 

Elena passed the ale back to Oghren, who downed it with a belch. 

“Heh, you’d think this was a funeral,” he said. “You lot need to liven up.” 

“Be quiet, you lewd little man,” Morrigan snapped at him.

“This lewd little man could show you a good time.”

“That’s quite enough of that,” Leliana said. “Elena, is everything alright? You seem to be drinking rather a lot.” 

“No, everything is not alright,” Elena said. The ceiling of the cave they had camped out in was starting to spin. “They- they took those women, and did that to them! And Branka let them.” 

“It’s horrible,” Leliana said quietly. “Poor Hespith. And poor Laryn.”

“I wonder if the other Grey Wardens know about this,” Alistair said, his face dark. “They’d have to.”

Oghren had somehow materialized another flagon of ale from somewhere. Elena didn’t want to know how. She grabbed it and kept drinking, trying to get the image of the broodmother out of her head. When she closed her eyes she could hear the way it screamed- plaintively, as if it (she?) was calling for help. Elena shuddered and took another swig before passing it back to Oghren.

Maker, but the cave was really spinning now. She could feel tears springing unbidden to her eyes and tried to fight them back. The ale was making it harder. She laid back on the cold cave floor.

The next thing she knew, she was waking up in her bedroll with a splitting headache. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. The fire was still going, but everyone was asleep except for Alistair, who was keeping watch at the entrance of the cave. Elena got up and walked over to sit next to him. He looked up at her with a smile, but she noticed the dark shadows under his eyes. 

“You should get some rest,” she said softly. “I can take over the watch for you.”

“It’s not a problem,” he said. “I wasn’t going to be able to sleep, anyway.”

“How are you doing?” she asked. “With all of this.”

He sighed. “Well, I’m certainly not doing great,” he said. “You know, I thought being a Grey Warden would be a cakewalk compared to staying in the Chantry.”

“Did you really?”

“No,” he said with a short laugh. “I certainly didn’t expect this, though. Like being alone during a Blight, or finding out where darkspawn come from.”

“You’re not alone,” Elena said, grabbing his hand on an impulse. She laced her fingers through his. “You have me. And the rest of these jokers we bring along with us.” 

He smiled at her and squeezed her hand. 

“Out of curiosity,” she said, “how exactly did I end up in my bedroll?”

“I had to help you,” Alistair said with a chuckle. “You really can’t hold your ale.”

“Apparently not,” she said with a laugh. “I haven’t had a headache like this since I was a rebellious teenager. Thank you, though.”

“What? You, a rebellious teenager? I can’t imagine,” Alistair mocked her. “You know, I’ve never really been drunk. There weren’t a lot of opportunities in the Chantry.”

“You’re not missing out,” Elena said. She grew quiet again, thinking about Hespith and Laryn. “I can’t believe Branka let them take those poor women.”

“What, you’re surprised that the woman who took her entire house into the Deep Roads to find a legendary anvil would abandon them when it suited her? I’m only surprised they made it this far.”

Elena sighed. “I just don’t see this ending well for Branka,” she said. “Don’t tell Oghren, but I’m not optimistic that we’ll be leaving with a Paragon.” 

Alistair shrugged. “If it comes to that, I’m sure the deshyrs would be overjoyed that we fought their Paragon and left without her. They’d let us declare a king right then and there.”

Elena snorted. She leaned against Alistair and felt him tense up. 

“Is this okay?” she asked. He nodded, his face coloring again, and slowly loosened up. Elena let herself relax for the first time in days. They sat together like that until the fire was nearly out and others were starting to stir. For once, Elena thought, things might be okay.


End file.
